


The Measure of a Warrior's Heart

by charlietheepic7



Series: The Apprentice is Lucio's Younger Sister AU [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Apprentice is Lucio's Younger Sister, Backstory, Child Abandonment, Child Apprentice, Child Neglect, Gen, Magic, Minor Character Death, Named Apprentice (The Arcana), Parent-Child Relationship, Patricide, Warrior Tribe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlietheepic7/pseuds/charlietheepic7
Summary: Morga shouldn't have had children.
Relationships: Apprentice & Lucio (The Arcana), Apprentice & Morga (The Arcana)
Series: The Apprentice is Lucio's Younger Sister AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957093
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	The Measure of a Warrior's Heart

Morga shouldn’t have had children.

Montag, she had been warned about. A parasite, the healers had called him when he screeched his way out of her womb, fat for eating while the nine months had made her weak—well, weaker than she preferred to be. The only reason Montag had lived was because of her weakness and now she was paying the price for it.

Minna was an accident though.

Little, baby Minna, born shortly before the end of Morga’s bleeding cycle. She had been born fighting for breath, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, little fists punching at the world she couldn’t yet see. Despite her near death, Minna grew strong in a matter of weeks, having none of the childhood mishaps Montag did, and now at four years old, it was clear she was going to be a powerful witch if she lived long enough.

Morga watched solemnly as Lutz’s heartless corpse was thrown out into the deep forest as food for the carrion to feast, Minna’s little hand cold in hers.

Even though they were siblings, Montag hated Minna. It hadn’t made sense to Morga; with all his grandstanding and Minna’s hero worship of the brat, she thought he’d love the attention. But no, every time the toddler tried to get close to her brother, she was pushed away, often falling hard on the ground. Lutz had sworn he’d saw Montag kick her when Morga wasn’t around.

She understood now. If Montag had thought he would inherit the position of clan leader, it made sense that he wouldn’t want another blood heir around.

Now that he knew the truth—though, really, it wasn’t like it was a secret—Morga didn’t know what he would do. Montag had already killed his father, weakened by some evil magic that reeked from the brat. The same magic that tried to weaken her. Fortunately, Minna seemed unaffected by it; perhaps it was proof he didn’t want to kill her? Or that he didn’t see her as a threat to being clan leader?

Morga scoffed. As if some demon plague would be the thing to finish her off.

Still, she couldn’t predict what Montag would do when she refused to falter to his dark magic. Run off with his tail between his legs, no doubt. But she wouldn’t put it past him to strike at Minna in a fit of petty rage when she banished him, or even before in hopes that grief would exacerbate her illness.

So, after sending Montag away with a hunting party to the Deep South, she summoned Minna and Baba Ludmila.

Baba Ludmila was the last witch in their clan, the few others having died within the last few years. A myriad of winkles and scars crossed Ludmila’s face, speaking of all the battles she had won in the past. She was their main healer and Minna’s magic teacher and now, she would be Minna’s caretaker as well.

Minna fidgeted as Morga laced her boots. “Where are we going, Mama?” Her eyes, near black like her father, stared up at her. Though she was too young to need charcoal around her eyes to protect them from the glaring sun on the snow, two lines decorated her face: a little mark from the corners of her eyes, then arcing down along as-yet undefined cheekbones, rounding her cheek to her chin. The marks of a witch belonging to the Scourge of the South.

Morga would never see her face defined by womanhood. Would she even recognize her child should they fight years in the future?

She would, Morga decided. She would have Lutz’s eyes to guild her, even if everything else changed.

Morga finished with the boots and Minna hopped up to her feet. “I am not going anywhere, Mini. You and Baba are going North, to a city.”

Minna scrunched up her nose. Morga nearly smiled at her distain. “Why would we ever go _there_?”

“Because it is safe.”

“It’s safe here, Mama, not up North,” Minna insisted. “You are here.”

“There will be a big battle soon,” Morga lied as she took Minna’s hand and led her out of the tent. Ludmila was waiting for them on the edge of their camp, bags already packed and bow across her wide shoulders. “Every member of the clan will have to fight; everyone who cannot will hide in the North. If we have won, I will come get you.”

“ _When_ we have won,” Minna insisted. “We are the Scourge of the South! We will never be defeated!”

“Nothing is without defeat. If you think a sword unbreakable, it will shatter at the last moment. If you think yourself unkillable, you will surely perish.” She would not have her daughter grow up like her brother, thinking that the world will go her way just because she wills it. “The Scourge wins because we always fight like our lives are on the line, but that will not last forever. We have many enemies that would kill a child like you. That is why I send you North.”

“Is… is it because Papa died?”

“Was killed,” she corrected. “Your papa was killed by Montag. Never forget this… But no, not entirely. Lutz’s death is just one of a dozen from this year alone.”

“Then why send Baba and me away? Baba is the healer! And she can teach me all her healing spells!”

Morga quirked an eyebrow. “You expect to be a healer at four?”

“I can do it! I’m strong!” To punctuate her point, Minna’s hands lit with unearthly fire that refused to burn her gloves.

“Not as strong as you think. You have too much to learn to be of any use right now.” It hurt to say, but was true. Despite her magic, Montag would kill Minna in an instant. “Baba will teach you there.”

“She can teach me here…” she grumbled, kicking at the snow. Dark eyes looked up at her again. They were almost at the edge of the camp. “Can I say goodbye to Monty?”

“No. He is out hunting and you must leave now to intercept the market caravan you’ll be traveling with.” Jaeger had said there was one two days walk North that had settled in with one of their ‘neighbors.’ If they made good time, Ludmila and Minna would arrive right as the caravan was leaving and, pretending to be refugees from the Scourge, travel North with them. 

Minna nodded solemnly, but didn’t whine like Montag at her age. “Can I say goodbye to Jaeger?” The hawk screeched overhead at the sound of his name.

“He will guild you to the caravan. You may say goodbye to him once you’re there.”

They had reached Ludmila, the old woman nodding to her clan leader upon their arrival. Morga let go of Minna’s hand.

“Mama… can I say goodbye to you?”

“You may.” Morga crouched down in the snow next to her daughter and Minna hugged her with all her might. Morga hugged back, the last time she would hug anyone.

“Bye-bye, Mama.”

“Goodbye, my Minna,” she whispered into the girl’s braided hair.

“I love you.” She couldn’t respond; the night before, Ludmila and she had decided it would be better if Minna grew up thinking Morga had abandoned her, to make sure she would never find Montag. She would live in a city, soft and carefree and impossible to find by Montag, and inside, Morga wept for the warrior that would never be. “Come get me soon?”

“As soon as I can,” Morga allowed.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she lied and little arms let go of her neck.

A few tears had escaped Minna’s eyes, spearing her charcoal. Morga wiped the rest of it off with a rag. She wouldn’t be able to wear it with the caravan anyway. “Be good, Minna.”

Minna took Baba Ludmila’s hand. “I will, Mama.”

Morga watched the two walk away and kept watching until they were over the horizon and their tracks were hidden with more snow. She did not cry.

The hunting party returned that night with Montag dragging a dead boar. He grinned at her, expecting praise. “Mama! Your son has returned!” Morga leveled her stare at him and, properly subdued, Montag cut the enthusiasm. “Anyway, have you seen Mini around? Usually she’s the first thing I see when coming back from a hunt. She ill?”

“She’s dead.”

Montag’s face dropped in shock and, dare she hope, horror. “What!? What happened!?”

“The little idiot apparently heard about the Northern tradition of leaving flowers on the graves of the dead and decided to visit her father. She ran into a musk bear on the way.” Morga turned away at Montag’s sharp inhale. “She was already dead by the time I went looking.”

His expression twisted with rage. “ _Wha_ —You didn’t even go with her!?”

“Why would I? She should have known better than to wander away.”

Montag grabbed her, bunching up her tunic. “She was just a little kid! Why didn’t you have anyone looking after her!?”

“Why do you care?” Montag flinched back. “You never liked Minna. Don’t pretend you do now that she’s dead.”

“I…” Tears welled in Montag’s eyes and he looked away. “I do care for Minna. I swear I do.”

“Maybe if you had shown that care earlier, she would still be here,” Morga raised an eyebrow.

His eyes snapped back to hers, enraged. “Maybe if you had shown care to _anyone_ , she would be alive!”

“Leadership is more than just taking care of a brat doing things they’re not supposed to… not that you know much about the subject.” Morga stood tall, looking down her nose at her wayward son. “You would do well remember that.”

Rage and distress were at war on Montag’s face, but Morga couldn’t bare to witness it. She walked away, leaving her back open to her murderous spawn yet keeping an ear out for any attack coming his way. But he didn’t strike; his weakness left him alone in the snow.

She really shouldn’t have had children.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the quote: "The measure of a man's heart lies in what he's willing to sacrifice for his family."
> 
> This is the first part to a greater series I am planning.


End file.
